


Shielded

by stifledlaughter



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, five times fic, protective cast-iron laurent, protective cinnamon roll damen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stifledlaughter/pseuds/stifledlaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t always need to protect me,” murmured Laurent as Damen took his seat next to his king. Damen leaned over and whispered, “I’m not sure I can stop myself.”<br/>-<br/>Five times Damen defended Laurent, and one time Laurent defended Damen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shielded

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this tumblr post http://cannedebonbon.tumblr.com/post/139455154774/all-day-ive-been-thinking-about-like-laurent-and about Damen defending Laurent and welp you all are now given nearly 4k words on the topic.

The first time it happened, Laurent wasn’t actively trying to anger anyone, surprisingly.

Damen and Laurent were at a peace treaty signing between Patras and Vask, who had recently ran into some border skirmishes and had agreed to put up a safety zone between the two countries to allow passage for merchants and traders without harm, as well as diplomats. The large meeting hall where this was taking place was impressive and intimidating, giving an air of gravity to the scene.  As witnesses to the treaty, all they were required to do was stand and watch, quietly monitor the proceedings, and sign that all parties involved witnessed this act.

This was how politics was normally done for much of history.

For much of history, Laurent was not present.

Within minutes of hearing the original premise of the treat, Laurent verbally shredded it. He picked out clauses that favored one country or the other, cut huge swaths through the basics of the border patrols that were to be set up and how their logics were a mess, and generally destroyed the entire document. Laurent had grabbed a silver ink pen from the scribe and began to scratch out parts, rewriting others, and making it fairer for each of the countries.

The diplomats from Vask and Patras looked at each other, confused, but realizing that their treaty was in fact terrible, acquiesced to the hurricane that was Laurent.

An hour later, as the two diplomatic parties, several watching concerned merchant guild members, and the representatives from the combined kingdoms of Vere and Akielos (which consisted of Damen and their handful of servants and guards) looked on, Laurent had completely written the document to serve both countries better and create a more sustainable future for the peace zone in between the borders. Papers were scattered across the table, marked with Laurent’s perfect handwriting above the scratched-out lines. Laurent gave the new copy of the treaty to the scribe, instructing her to make four copies, , one each for Patras, Vask, and the new Artesian Empire, and a final one to be signed by all.

The scribe was beginning to look mutinous.

A recess was called as the scribe copied the documents and the diplomats from Vask and Patras went off to discuss the implications on their own. Laurent, satisfied, put down the pen and stepped back, glancing at Damen. “Thoughts?”

Damen hesitated, and then said, “While you did fix the problem of the initial construction costs, I feel that I ought to remind you that neither of us have political power over Vask or Patras.”

“I didn’t see the diplomats arguing with me. That treaty is ironclad now, and furthermore, with my last new clause, there won’t be an issue with the border patrol shifts running unnecessary checks on merchant guild members during height trading times, which would cause delays in shipping and cause unrest. It’s basic trade practicalities.”

Damen had to wryly agree, although internally, that they probably saved themselves from some agitated neighbors by fixing the treaty, but he wasn’t about to let Laurent get off so easily for completely taking over the entire discussion. "Which I understand, but really, Laurent-“

“You!” snarled a voice from behind them, and Laurent turned, his eyes furrowing in annoyance at Damen being interrupted, to see a member of the merchant guild reaching into his knife sheath on his belt. “The fuck do you think you’re doing, coming in here and changing things-“

Damen reacted, instinctively, rushing up to the merchant and pinning the man with his right arm against the rough limestone walls, his left arm swiftly disarming the attacker and tossing the knife aside. “That,” snapped Damen, losing his kingly demeanor briefly, “was unwise.”

Laurent looked on, tensing noticably, but as soon as he saw the blade hit the ground, the brief flash of panic disappeared from his eyes. “Guards, take him to the authorities. Check his friends for weapons.”

Damen shoved the man towards the approaching guards and looked up, meeting Laurent’s eyes.

This would not be the last time Damen would do something like this.

\------------------

The second time Damen defended Laurent from attack, Damen took the blow, a random attack when  mingling in a crowd of mixed-nationality citizens in a small town on the borders between their newly united lands.

Laurent chastised him later about it, although the attack was not strong enough to cripple the Akielon king in any way, merely inconvenience him for the next few days. “I was prepared to duck,” Laurent reprimanded Damen as Paschal applied a salve to the very painful contusion on Damen’s back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wasn’t going to take that risk,” Damen replied, wincing as Paschal’s fingers brushes the scrape where the club had slammed across Damen’s flesh and revealed the red beneath the brown.

Laurent said nothing, his gaze flickering across Damen’s back, where the old scars shone bright against the swathe of blood that Paschal was wiping off in preparation for bandaging the wound.

Damen saw him and understood the silence. “That’s behind us now. Laurent. Look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Laurent met Damen’s eyes, the unspoken words brimming over between the both of them. Now was not the time and place to check the bandages of wounds long past.

\------------------

The third time was entirely not Laurent’s fault, but that didn’t make the stabbing any less painful when Damen managed to disarm one bandit but neglect to spot the other slinking in the shadows.

“The caravan leader says all of his healers are occupied- we’ll have to wait a moment while they finish up with the front of the line,” murmured Laurent as he shifted Damen to a more comfortable position against his chest. The bodies of the bandits were being disposed of by those that weren’t injured in the ambush.

“Look at us,” grunted Damen, trying to staunch the blood from the stab in his leg. “Two kings, kneeling in the dirt.”

“We’re not kings right now, Lamen,” commented Laurent wryly, taking a roll of plain cotton from his “merchandise satchel” and replacing the crumped cloth that had been soaked through in the initial seconds after the attack. “I’m Charls, the cloth merchant, and you are my faithful assistant that just had to leap into the fray of battle to protect me.”

“At least you didn’t catch a blade.” Damen’s eyes fluttered as he tried to move and pain shot through his leg. “And here we thought traveling in disguise would be safer.”

“Look at the bright side, Lamen,” said Laurent. “Now we can report to the kings of the Arlesian Empire that this road is unsafe for merchants and prevent further attacks.”

“Always glad to help,” said Damen, who closed his eyes and tried to drift off to another place, somewhere not here as Laurent tied off the replacement bandage.

\------------------

The fourth time made Damen realize that while Laurent could defend himself, he could not stop himself from using his body as a shield every time. It was instinctive.

In their throne room Arles, sitting upon their custom throne that was two thrones combined with nothing separating the two kings seats, they had listened to several hours of common folk coming in, bringing in reports and complaints from all around the empire. In the winter, there had been even more due to trade issues and crop failures.

The second this particular woman walked in, Damen was on edge. There was something off about her, the way she slightly stumbled when she walked, her eyes glinting and darting from side to side. A child was on her hip, dressed in ragged scraps and whimpering softly. His hand shifted towards the sword by his chair, his warrior instincts brimming to the surface.

“What grievance do you bring, my countrywoman?” asked Laurent from his throne. He was dressed, as usual, in his blue and gold cage of clothes, the laces perfectly done and tied off tightly. Unlike Damen, who slowly slid down into his throne and had to correct his posture throughout these kinds of days, his back had been as straight as an arrow. His posture was aloof, calculating, kingly, and his voice carried across the room to the woman who now approached the throne.

“It’s been five days since we’ve had food, your Majesty. There’s nothing to be found in the markets,” she said, her voice already cracked with anger. Damen noted the broiling rage that broke through at the honorific. “Why?”

“Bandit raiders attacked a merchant caravan returning from Ios and the roads were shut down to seek out the bandits that escaped to prevent further attacks. We have told the nobles to share their stocks with the people on their lands until we can receive the next shipment and repay them for their losses.”

“Lord Alain hasn’t shared a damn thing,” she snarled, and the tone in the room shifted from on edge to hostile. “My babe hasn’t eaten in days- I’m dry, for I haven’t eaten at all for five days.”

“We will speak to Lord Alain – in the meantime, a servant will share from our stores with you-“ but Laurent was interrupted by a screech, and the woman, with alarming speed, essentially dropped her child on the ground and sprinted up towards Laurent, broken from hunger and anger and directing it at what she thought was the source.

Forgoing the sword, Damen pushed himself out of his chair and blocked Laurent, throwing up his arms in defense as the woman slammed into him and, unsurprisingly, just bounced off, due to Damen’s size and her sudden fatigue after using all of her energy for the sprint. She crumpled to the ground, crying, shuddering, and from behind him Laurent commanded, “Take her to the infirmary- and get a wet nurse for the babe. Julien, bring Lord Alain to us from Cadillier immediately and see that his people are fed in his absence.”

Damen turned to see Laurent sheathing a blade, and saw that Laurent was settling his legs down – they had been prepared to kick her away, raised defensively.

“You don’t always need to protect me,” murmured Laurent as Damen took his seat next to his king. Damen’s unclad thigh rubbed up against the clothed leg of his husband as Damen leaned over and whispered, “I’m not sure I can stop myself.”

\-------------------

The fifth time, honestly, was completely Laurent’s fault, and even Laurent had to admit that he had perhaps gone too far.

This, however, did absolutely nothing to stop Damen from, once again, shielding Laurent from his own actions.

The diplomats from Patras were not here to negotiate calmly. They strongly disagreed with a clause from the neutral zone treaty that Laurent had “edited” several months ago; they were of the strong belief that he had favored Vask, since the Vaskian currency had recently risen above Patrasian currency in value. They attributed this wholly to the shift in trading patterns that happened due to the neutral zone set-up, and believed Laurent to be the source of possible treaty manipulation.

Arguments back and forth had been going on for some time, and as the hour since the sun set stretched on, Laurent’s mood was rapidly deteriorating, and he addressed the main speaker of the group, his words curt, and not even bothering to restrain his disdain.

“We are not favoring Vask – your currency is falling due to your inability to enforce your crop season regulations, not verifying for tax fraud when you allow your merchants to pass through your own checkpoints, and refusing to deal with the higher-level corruption in your Merchant Guilds,” said Laurent with aloof distaste. “So you come here to blame us for your problems when in fact you not only have the power to fix them, you’ve had that power since before I fixed that terribly written treaty. You can find your horses ready to go out behind the stables. You are dismissed.”

It was only the soft _shink_ of metal sliding out of a steel sheath that alerted Damen to what was going to happen next, and like he had always done, and would always do, Damen leapt up from his seat next to Laurent and drew his sword. He caught the throwing dagger with his blade, striking it as the weapon hurtled towards Laurent.

“You arrogant bastard,” snarled the man that threw it, one of the minor diplomatic assistants. “You fucking-“ But he was cut off as the guards hauled him to his knees, shoving the other diplomats aside, and the diplomat who had been speaking gaped in shock at what just happened.

The danger averted, Damen stepped to the side, but kept his sword unsheathed. The fear he saw reflected in the diplomats’ eyes would do them some good, and he turned to Laurent, who was watching the commotion with a cool, unruffled exterior.

“You know, we could have just dismissed them,” noted Damen, his heart still slamming, looking at the throwing dagger still on the ground, having spun off to the side after being blocked by his blade.

“They needed to hear that.” Laurent did, however, breathe out slowly, and Damen swore, for a flicker of a moment, he thought he saw a tremble. “But… perhaps… not like that.”

It was the closest to an apology he would get for that.

 ----------------------------

But all that Damen had done was nothing compared to what Laurent would do for him.

The banquet was a magnificent spread- the wedding of the daughter of the Patras Merchant’s Guild head to a high-level duke was the affair of the year simply due to the luxury of the people involved. A year after the neutral zone treaty skirmish, calmer heads prevailed and it was seen that Laurent’s actions significantly improved the areas surrounding the zones, and as a thank you, the head of the guild invited Laurent and Damen to partake in the festivities. Politically, it was the right thing to do- all of the nobles of the capital city would be attending, and many of the higher-ranking government officials were rumored to be attending. Their presence was necessary to show support and friendliness between the countries.

Vetresk, the father of the bride and clearly the man of the evening, came by and had personally greeted Laurent and Damen and thanked them for coming. Talk was light, apolitical, and Damen watched with curiosity as Laurent’s shields built higher and higher the longer he talked to this man. He was missing something, and he was not sure what.

Seated near the front, Damen was deep in conversation with one of the Patrasian king’s generals about training regimes. Bazac was a companionable dining partner, large and practical, and reminded Damen of Nikandros. They spoke for so much of the dinner that Damen, at one point, turned around and saw that Laurent was not there, and couldn’t remember if Laurent had given him any notice of leaving his side.

Damen poked into his food a bit more –for an event this luxurious, he found the dishes he had been specially served (Akielon dishes to make him feel “more at home”) were lacking, somewhat grainy _. It’s just not the same_ , he thought. Better than the dish that Laurent got, which looked to be a pile of round white-green balls. Bazac had informed him they were cooked snails, and Damen wasn’t sure if they were meant to be enjoyed ironically or not. He didn’t even bother to sample them, and thought, privately, that he would be raiding his stores of dried jerky in his bags meant for the travel days when they returned to their rooms.

“You’re right, Exalted, with these latest breastplates from Vere, they’re much lighter than what we had before but still hold up in a battle- we’ve got another shipment coming in for our local militia at the capital,” said Bazac excitedly, and while Damen enjoyed him as a conversation partner, he was becoming concerned about the whereabouts of Laurent.

“Excuse me for a moment, General, can we talk later? I need to find King Laurent,” said Damen apologetically, who gave a short bow and backed away. Damen glanced around the long banquet hall, searching for a flash of gold hair, but saw nothing. Troubled, Damen started to rise, but the bride had come over to greet him and thank him for coming, so he stayed, smiling, all the while wondering where Laurent had gone as Damen was trapped at the table, sentenced to be a prisoner to political nicety.

An hour passed as more and more people came to speak to Damen, and he was getting agitated at this point. “Thank you- yes, Ios is lovely this time of year, feel free to visit- but I must find King Laurent now-“ and escaping the political necessities of talking to the groom, Damen rose from his chair – only to be stopped by the sound of instruments announcing the beginning of the post-dinner speeches.

“Dammit,” muttered Damen, sinking to his chair again, looking around again for Laurent. These speeches would take at least another hour.

“Beautiful wedding, is it not?” called out Vetresk at the front of the room who was standing, holding up his wine glass and smiling to the crowd. He was a tall man, clad in wide flowing robes. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he stood and addressed the audience. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming- and isn’t my daughter lovely in her dress- thank you to Elsafina for making it, what _intricate_ designs- and before we get to the toasts –“

“I’m not sure we’ll get to those before we have to throw you out, Vetresk,” called out a voice from the back of the room. Everyone turned, confused, and Damen’s heart leapt up in his throat.

Laurent was lounging against the wall, his eyes burning and furious, his face set in a grim line.

Vetresk laughed, his face set in a wide smile. “I wasn’t aware that the Veretian King of the Artesian Empire made jokes!”

“I wouldn’t joke about the man who conspired to poison my husband,” said Laurent, rising, and the fall, which had erupted into whispers and chatters, fell deadly silent. “Or did you think that I would miss that?” Damen’s heart started slamming in his chest, and he glanced at his food and drink, feeling repulsed. But he was fine – Laurent must have stopped something from happening, but how?

Vetresk coughed, his face flushing darker. “I- what-“

Laurent stalked towards the front of the room, causing people to lean back in their chairs to get as far away from him as possible. “I was curious why you would even invite us here. I know that you sent the bandits to attack the caravan in the safety zone to disrupt the treaty I helped write. I know that you’ve been causing the rumors that the treaty was the reason Patrasian coin was becoming less valued. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere and they’ve all pointed back to you.”

“That’s preposterous! You’re claiming I tried to murder your husband? He’s alive right there!” Vetresk coughed again, his eyes watering, as he pointed Damen.

Damen realized that if things were awkward before, it was only because everyone was focusing on his husband. Now, as all eyes turned to confirm that yes, Laurent of Vere’s husband was alive, right there, at the end of the long banquet table.

“Only because I doused all of his foods and drink in massive amounts of antidote. Tell me, Vetresk, did you do the same to yours?” Laurent was approaching the front, at the opposite end of the table from Damen, where Vetresk was beginning to sink into his chair and cough and choke.

“What…” spluttered Vetersk, looking up at Laurent, fear clouding his eyes. Damen was too stunned to move, too stunned to do anything.

“Killing me would be ineffective. You’d need to hurt me, teach me a lesson. Regicide, though? Here? You picked a good poison. I don’t doubt somewhere in your connections you had a corrupt apothecary slipping you a vial or two. I assume you didn’t say for who, or else they wouldn’t have given you poison used almost exclusively by Veretian assassins a hundred years ago and was subsequently banned from Vere – and then used in Patras under a different name – but still in our medicinal books.” At this point, Laurent pulled a small, thin blade from one of the pockets of his coat, and removed the sheath, where it glistened. “I’ve put a concentrated dose of the antidote on this blade- once it gets right into your bloodstream, you should start feeling the effects wear off. You only put a half-dose in my husband’s poison, to make it slower, but I decided to up yours to a full dose so everyone could see what you did and how it would feel. His would have begun to slowly kill him over a week, but you, well, it’s amplified.”

“Please…”  begged Vetresk, who had now sunk into his chair and was having difficulty breathing.

No one had stopped Laurent. They were staring, horrified, at the affair, and the bride herself, his daughter, looked disgusted at what her father had planned.

Laurent brought the blade up to Vetresk’s cheek, holding the man’s face tightly with his other hand.  

“Listen closely,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Should King Damianos come to harm, empires will fall.” The blade cut into Vetresk’s flesh, red blossoming out from the slash. “ _I will not care which ones._ ”

Vetresk nodded, his eyes huge, horrified, and Laurent stepped back, sheathing the dagger and walking back to Damen, his blue eyes flinty and murderous. Damen rose, breathless, astounded, and could not think of what to say, but when Laurent motioned for his husband to follow him into the hall, he did so.

Past the threshold of the doors, Damen shut them and turned to Laurent, who was looking at the ground. “How-“

But the words were halted as Laurent threw his arms around Damen and pulled him in tight, his face slamming into Damen’s chin. “Do you feel any ill effects? I put an incredible amount of antidote in everything you possibly could have touched. I didn’t know when they would put it in, so I just put it in every dish that passed our side of the table, and mine too in case you stole off my plate. You can’t get hurt from too much of the antidote.”

“That must be why it tasted awful,” muttered Damen, who held Laurent close to him in the empty corridor. No one had come after them, and he suspected that there would be quite a commotion going on anyway since the leader of the Merchant Guild had been accused of regicide. After a few seconds, Damen noticed that Laurent was trembling. “Laurent- I’m fine. Laurent, look at me.” Damen tipped Laurent’s chin up and gazed at his steadily. “I am here. I am fine. I could taste the antidote. Nothing got to me.”

Laurent nodded, mutely, his defenses down. “I keep thinking… of what would have happened if I hadn’t known. If I hadn’t heard.”

Damen pulled Laurent to his chest again, kissing his hair, firmly holding him. “Did you mean what you said? About empires?”

Laurent exhaled, his frame seemingly small wrapped up in Damen’s arms. “Yes. Every word.”

They held each other there, the torchlight flickers causing shadows to dance across the walls, the chatter of the hall muffled by the thick doors. In the morning, they would part, and the stories would spread, and everyone would know the price of harming King Laurent of Vere’s lover.


End file.
